Sir Frank did as he was told, and she held the feather fan between her face and the fire, while he stared at her, wondering what to say.
“Don't you find this atmosphere very stuffy?” he remarked at length. “It would be a good thing to have the windows open.”
Mrs. Jasher shrieked.
“My dear boy, are you mad? I have a touch of the influenza, and an open window would bring about my death. Why, this room is delightfully comfortable.”
“There is such a strong perfume about it,” sniffed Random pointedly.
“I should think you knew that scent by this time, Sir Frank. I use no other and never have done. Smell!” and she passed a flimsy handkerchief of lace.
Random took the handkerchief and placed it to his nostrils. As he did so a strange expression of triumph crept into his eyes.
“I think you told me once that it was a Chinese perfume,” he said, returning the handkerchief.
Mrs. Jasher nodded, well pleased.
“I get it from a friend of my late husband who is in the British Embassy at Pekin. No one uses it but me.”